


Before

by endemictoearth



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:19:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endemictoearth/pseuds/endemictoearth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is me shipping Rae with music. Just a little drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before

Before the hospital, before it got really bad, before life was nearly impossible, before she had given them an inch and they’d taken a mile, she wasn’t entirely unhappy. It was slow; it was gradual, like most things are. The slide into despair is a long shallow grade, ending at the brink of oblivion.

Maybe that was too dramatic. But remembering how she felt, the hopelessness, the unremitting bleakness, the words that most would call too dramatic don’t seem to go far enough.

However. The one thing that held her together before, during and after her breakdown (though it might only have held her by a single hair in her darkest hour), was music.

Music got her through the long dark nights of the soul, the 3 AM panics. When the light failed, and she was too tired to sleep, her CD player, with its foam covered earphones that left fuzz on her pillow, and were starting to molt—that cord that ran between them was her lifeline. The music she scrimped and saved to buy; the CDs she told her mum to get her for her birthdays instead of clothes, instead of anything else … they were what kept her sane. Kept her alive.

It was hard to describe the feeling that listening to music in the dark gave her. It was like … like the music was originating from her, from the center of her mind, and filling her head, then her body, then the room. Sometimes she would close her eyes and the pitch blackness would light up with images from her brain, and other times, she would blink into the inky dark, the dim light from around her curtains making the objects in her room seem foreign and strange. 

But as long as she had music, to fill her mind, to fill in her cracks, to pave over the bad thoughts that plagued her, she felt she’d be okay. Because they couldn’t touch her music. And when she was in the music, they couldn’t touch her, either.


End file.
